A week later, I took Ava to the cemetery.
It was a bright Sunday morning.
The snow had melted from the grass.
Wildflowers were beginning to grow along the fence.
My daughter carried a small bouquet Kelly had helped her arrange.
Yellow flowers.
Hannah's favorite.
We sat beside the headstone.
For a while, Ava talked about school.
Her new friend.
A science project involving a model volcano.
And how she intended to convince her teacher that horses were an appropriate subject for every assignment.
I laughed.
Then she became quiet.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“Did Mommy do something wrong when the car crashed?”
The question caught me off guard.
I looked toward her.
“Why do you ask?”
She shrugged.
“Somebody said she lost control because she was driving too fast.”
My chest tightened.
I took a slow breath.
“People didn't understand everything that happened that night.”
Ava looked toward me.
“And now they do?”
“We understand more.”
She considered that.
“Was she trying to protect me?”
I felt tears rising.
“Yes.”
My daughter looked toward the grave.
Then whispered, “I wish I remembered her better.”
I pulled her close.
“I know.”
She looked up.
“Will you tell me about her?”
I smiled through tears.
“Every day if you want.”
Ava considered that.
Then she leaned toward the headstone.
“Hi, Mommy.”
For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
She placed the yellow flowers carefully against the stone.
Then continued.
“Daddy says you were very brave.”
I closed my eyes.
Ava smiled faintly.
“And Kelly says you liked flowers.”
A tear slid down my cheek.
My daughter continued.
“I like horses more, but flowers are nice too.”
I laughed through tears.
Then she looked toward me.
“Can we invite Kelly for dinner?”
I nodded.
“Sure.”
Ava grinned.
“Good.”
Then she took my hand.
And together, we walked back toward the car.
That evening, Kelly came over carrying a strawberry cake.
She wore a simple blue dress beneath a cream cardigan, and her long blonde hair was loosely braided over one shoulder.
Ava immediately pulled her toward the kitchen.
“Kelly! We're making spaghetti!”
Kelly laughed.
“Are we?”
“Yes. Daddy says I can't make it all by myself because the stove is dangerous.”
“Your daddy is right.”
Ava sighed dramatically.
“Everybody keeps saying that.”
I looked toward Kelly.
She smiled.
The expression made my chest warm.
We prepared dinner together.
Ava measured pasta.